


appetites

by annejumps



Category: IT (Movies - Muschietti), IT - Stephen King
Genre: Adult Eddie Kaspbrak/Richie Tozier, Alpha Eddie Kaspbrak, Alpha/Omega, Body Image, Cravings, Eddie Kaspbrak Has OCD, Eddie Kaspbrak Loves Richie Tozier, Established Eddie Kaspbrak/Richie Tozier, M/M, Mpreg, Omega Richie Tozier, Omega Verse, Pregnant Richie Tozier, Protectiveness, Richie Tozier Loves Eddie Kaspbrak, Self-Indulgent
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-08-25
Updated: 2020-08-25
Packaged: 2021-03-06 17:54:17
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,293
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26112952
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/annejumps/pseuds/annejumps
Summary: Richie hates that he has cravings he can’t fight, hates that Eddie knows about them, hates asking for anything—if he’s practically begging, he must really want s’mores. Eddie, however, loves nothing more than giving him whatever he wants and needs.
Relationships: Eddie Kaspbrak/Richie Tozier
Comments: 9
Kudos: 123





	appetites

**Author's Note:**

> Wanted to write this little thing because it doesn't seem to already exist. No actual sex in this, just sweetness.

It’s dark and snowy outside; the TV is on, low. They’re ignoring it. 

Richie, under a blanket on the couch with his long legs over Eddie’s lap, sighs deeply and resumes his lamenting of his current state. “I sleep all the time, I’m insanely horny and hungry….” He stops counting off on his fingers and tilts his head, considering. “All right, so it’s not that much different from how I was before.” 

“And you were hot then, too,” Eddie counters. “I can barely keep my hands off you, you know that.” 

He’s got one hand resting on Richie’s ankle, the other on his belly. There’s nothing sexual about it, at least not yet; it’s par for the course these days. 

Eddie doesn’t want to let Richie out of his sight, and if possible he prefers some sort of physical contact with him, or at least his scent. On the days when he can’t work from home and is stuck in the office, he’s insufferable; a few weeks of that and his team was all too happy to encourage him to work from home, take paternity leave, whatever gets him not snapping at them.

Furthermore, Richie definitely prefers having him there; although a pocket square that Eddie’s rubbed on his neck soothes him when he holds it to his nose, he’d rather have Eddie himself home with him. No real substitute for pheromones directly from the source. 

“No shit,” Richie says. “I think at this point everybody gets the message that you’re the only one allowed to touch me. The doctor’s office started a Most Wanted wall that just has your picture on it after you wouldn’t stop growling at the nurses.”

Eddie huffs out a breath and presses his lips together. “They just… they don’t have to get all… _touchy_ with you.”

“It’s their _job_ , Eds. I’m pregnant. You literally bring me to the doctor’s office so they can give me a checkup.”

“Well they don’t have to get that close.” Eddie frowns. He knows he’s _probably_ being unreasonable, but he can’t help feeling the way he does. It’s natural, damn it.

“Eddie, they basically forced you to sit down to check your blood pressure—you were as red as a beet. I’m surprised they didn’t use a blow-dart tranquilizer to keep you down and not pacing all over the office attacking people. You’ve got to let them do their job. I don’t like it any more than you do,” Richie adds, a little morose and pouty. “I don’t exactly enjoy being poked and prodded and weighed with people gawking about how big I am and how weird it is that somebody like me is an omega, much less that I’m fertile and pregnant.” 

He makes an unhappy sound and closes his eyes; Eddie hums, and pats him. “Sweetheart. Rich. You’re amazing.”

Richie’s gotten more or less used to hearing this sort of thing from Eddie, even though he still doesn’t seem to actually believe him, and his stomach growls, cutting off anything he might have said in response. “Damn it, I’m so hungry. Fuck,” Richie whines. “Ooh! Make me s’mores with peanut butter,” he pleads, eyes wide. 

“Rich, not again. They’ll hurt your teeth. You’re gonna get sick of ‘em.”

Richie hates that he has cravings he can’t fight, hates that Eddie knows about them, hates asking for anything—if he’s practically begging, he must really want s’mores. Eddie, however, loves nothing more than giving him whatever he wants and needs. It gives him a deep satisfaction beyond anything he’s ever known, makes him feel like he has a purpose and a duty. Someone to live for, someone to die for if he had to. Technically, he supposes, more than one someone.

At the same time, the constant vigilance and worry is exhausting him. But he can’t shake the feeling that if he lowers his guard for even just a second, something terrible—he doesn’t know what—will happen. He’s pretty sure that’s not true, at least, his rational brain is. His rational brain and his alpha brain together, however, are a little freaked out at Richie’s near-miracle pregnancy. Eddie’s so in awe of him and what his body is doing that he can’t help feeling like if he just does everything right he can protect him, can protect their unborn offspring. Their friend Stan thinks Eddie has OCD; every time he mentions it, in his mild but stern way, Eddie counters that it’s pretty impossible to separate alpha tendencies from OCD as far as he’s concerned—he’s supposed to be on guard. Stan always just says there are professionals that can help him with it all. One of these days, Eddie might take him up on that. 

Not right now, though. Too much going on right now. 

_Must keep everyone away from Richie_. 

_Must get food for Richie_. 

Being an alpha is exhausting; worse yet when you feel like you’re overcompensating because for most of your life you’ve been treated as small and weak. No one expects _Eddie_ to be the alpha; every time people meet him and Richie as a couple, once they puzzle out that Eddie’s the alpha and Richie’s the omega—a process that happens much more rapidly now that Richie’s pregnant—Eddie has to brace himself for their rude reactions of surprise. Yeah, it’s kind of miserable. 

But it’s probably not as miserable as being a pregnant omega, he has to admit. 

His own miserable pregnant omega groans softly, shifting around, and looks at Eddie expectantly. “I will not get sick of them, I swear. Make me peanut butter s’mores and I’ll let you fuck me tonight.”

“Fine,” Eddie sighs, and gets up. He walks over to bend down and get a kiss. 

Richie prefers to feel like he’s making deals with Eddie, like he’s not imposing on him. They both know that Eddie’s going to fuck him tonight because Richie will beg him to like he does most nights lately. 

He doesn’t have to, God knows, but he can’t seem to help it, and Eddie doesn’t exactly mind hearing it. He also craves the feeling of marking Richie anew, getting his scent all over him and in him, keeping him tucked safe up in their bed, their nest. Nothing keeps Richie feeling happier and safer than being just-fucked and wrapped up with his mate in their soft sheets.

Eddie’s gotten really good by now at rapidly assembling peanut butter s’mores, microwaving them, and getting them over to Richie while they’re still warm, and he takes a plate of two out to Richie, melty and delicious. Richie, moaning under his breath, after wolfing them down licks the messy chocolate, marshmallow, and peanut butter from his fingers. “God, those are better than sex,” he says, straight-faced, and as usual Eddie starts laughing at that before he does. “Seriously Eds, I almost came.”

Eddie grins, feeling warm in a primitive hindbrain way at Richie’s evident satisfaction. “Yeah, yeah.” There are graham cracker crumbs all over Richie, and Eddie sets about cleaning them up, pausing here and there for kisses. “Let me know when you want to go to bed,” he tells Richie, setting the plate on the coffee table. “No rush.” 

“Soon,” Richie murmurs. “Sit down, relax, babe.”

Eddie sits back down where he was before. Richie takes his hand; Richie’s hand is still sticky, but Eddie tries to ignore that. “I can’t relax, you know that,” he sighs, with a short laugh.

“You’re so good to me,” Richie murmurs. “Don’t worry. I’ll be fine, I know you’ll keep me safe. Keep us safe. We’re good, babe. We’re good.”

Eddie’s quiet for a moment; he swallows. “Yeah,” he whispers, and smiles at Richie, squeezing his hand gently. “We’re good.”

**Author's Note:**

> Peanut butter s'mores honestly are really damn good.


End file.
